poverty.

I'm re-reading one of my favorite books, The Irresistible Revolution. Despite the fact that I'm in the middle of reading several other books, despite the fact that final exams begin in two days, and despite the fact that one of my professors suggested that it's best we not think about "big picture" stuff during these next few days, I'm convinced this is necessary.

I need a good reminder. I need a new perspective. I need my outlook on the world refreshed.

I just finished the chapter in which Shane (yes, we're on a first-name basis) talks about visiting Mother Teresa's Missionaries of Charity home in Calcutta. (I'd forgotten that he spends a whole chapter discussing his time there.) After I read it, I looked over at my journal and flipped to July 3, 2009 - the day I visited the Missionaries of Charity in Huruma, Kenya. It was a cool moment. I realized that this time, I can actually share in some of Shane's experiences.

Here's what I wrote that day:

So we did end up going to Mother Teresa's Missionaries of Charity hospital-place. I sort of knew what I was getting myself into and sort of didn't...We entered the compound, and I immediately noticed how tidy it was. As compared to the slum of Huruma, which was just feet outside the gate, the charity was clean and well-kept. It was like the world was raging on outside, and then we entered, and it just seemed like all that stopped.

We first stopped in the disabled children's ward. As we walked to the door, I looked through the windows at the crippled children lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Tears welled up in my eyes as the nun went on to explain that nearly all of these children had been abandoned because of their disabilities. It was sad, but hopeful at the same time. Because, despite their disabilities, these children now had a chance at life. They stretched out their hands to greet us and climbed all over us as we bent down to touch them. They were just so precious. And to think that their family literally abandoned them is heart-wrenching.

Next, we visited the disabled women's ward. In this area, women with mental disabilities are cared for. To be honest, I always feel a little nervous when I'm around mentally handicapped people. I think I've adopted that tendency from the sick societal stigma/fear of mentally disabled people. But as I walked around and shook their hands and watched their faces light up, I knew my fears were not only ridiculous, but were the very reason these women were here: other people had been too scared to take care of them.

The last ward we went into was the children's ward. Unfortunately, most of the children were already asleep, but a few were up and came running to greet us. They had so much joy and so much love. How cool is it that these orphans get to enjoy a rather happy, peaceful existence?! That was the thing that kept striking me over and over again: in this place filled with people who have experienced so much sorrow, there was totally a sense of joy. Clearly, that joy can only be from God. It's that genuine holistic change/love/care that really restores and sustains people, I guess.

That was my experience. And this is Shane's:

I fell in love with the Home for the Destitute and Dying and spent most days there. I helped folks eat, massaged muscles, gave baths, and basically tried to spoil people who really deserved it. Each day, folks would die, and each day, we would go out onto the streets and bring in new people. The goal was not to keep people alive (we had very few supplies for doing that) but to allow people to die with dignity, someone loving them, singing, laughing, so they were not alone.

And later on:

I had no idea how hard the transition would be. When I walked into the atrium [of Willow Creek Community Church] where they have a food court on the megachurch "campus," I knew I was a long way from the leper colony in India. The worlds of poverty and wealth collided, and I guess I felt a little dose of what the experts call culture shock.

Though our experiences were quite different (he went to Calcutta, I went to Huruma; he met Mother Teresa, I did not; etc) I understand what he's talking about. I get how powerful and beautiful the revolutionary mission of the charity is. I understand how hard the transition back to life in America is. I understand the grief of having to return to your "life" after feeling like you just experienced true life.

I understand what it feels like to see and witness true mercy and pure love and to wonder how to replicate it elsewhere.

Now, nearly five months after my experience abroad, I still don't feel like I've been able to adjust comfortably to my life back here. And I don't know if I ever will. I'm still struggling with how to live in this world, fully knowing what's going on in the other world. I'm still wondering what I'm called to do here, when my heart is elsewhere.

But as I was reading last night, I found a little comfort in Shane's paraphrase of Mother Teresa's words:

"It is among the wealthy that we can find the most terrible poverty of all - loneliness."

Perhaps that's the poverty I'm supposed to address here: poverty of the spirit. This poverty strips people of comfort and identity in an entirely different way than economic poverty. But it's just as sad, and it's just as in need of attention.

I feel like my posts don't always make complete sense. And I feel like this one is a very messy regurgitation of a bunch of stuff that's swimming in my head. But there you have it. Take it or leave it.